Pipit's Way
by WhyMustIWrite
Summary: A series of glimpses into Pipit's life, exploring his father's absence, his struggle with finances, his relationship with his mother, how he came to be a bird expert, and the origin of "the Pipit way!" (Complete for now, unless further inspiration hits.) *Cover art by Onisuu*
1. Absent

Pipit arrived home and greeted his mom with a kiss on the cheek. Trudging to the far recessed wall that served as his living space, he flopped onto his neatly-made bed.

"How was school, darling?"

"Fine. Tiring. We practiced swordsmanship." Levering himself up on his elbows, he asked "Did you open the shop at all today?"

Mallara smiled at her son, "The shop? Oh, not today."

"You didn't open it yesterday either," Pipit noted, sounding worried. "Or the day before that."

She waved her hand dismissively. "I know that, dear. It's just, your father was the one who really ran things. It's tough to get it done on my own- all the bookkeeping and inventory and sales. I'd really rather wait for him to get back."

Pipit groaned and laid back on the bed. Not this again. "Mom...he's not coming back."

"Nonsense," Mallara responded airily, smile never slipping.

"If he was alive, don't you think he would have come home by now?" Pipit snapped. "Or at least let us know that he's all right?"

The day his father left the island on a business errand, he told Pipit that he'd be back soon. Later, after months of searching, the knights of Skyloft could only report that Harrie was last seen on Gwyre Island. He'd stopped long enough to pick up supplies before taking off once again, presumably for home.

There were two theories about his father's disappearance. Windstorms were not unheard of in the skies near Gwyre Island. If a storm had overtaken him, his father and the loftwing could have plummeted to their deaths, taken by the clouds.

The other theory was that Harrie didn't _want _to be found- that he had abandoned his family to start a new life in a distant island.

Mallara said nothing, and Pipit dropped the conversation. His father had to be dead. It was the only explanation that made any sense.


	2. The Pipit Way

"This is a real problem, mom," Pipit said looking over the store accounts. "We're still not making enough money to cover our expenses."

"Don't be such a worrier!" His mother cooed reassuringly. "We have plenty of savings."

"We can't live on that forever," the teen protested. Looking back down at the books, he shook his head. "We can't even live on it for another year. Once the next school payment is due, it will burn through nearly everything we have saved up. And I still need to buy my own sword."

"It'll work out, honey."

"But _how_?" Pipit ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "Money doesn't magically drop from the sky, mom. We have to work for it. But you almost never even bother to open the shop. If I didn't show up after school to keep it running for a few hours in the evening, we'd have nothing coming in at all!"

Mallara ruffled her manicured hand through his hair affectionately before pulling the account books away from the table. "You're such a diligent boy. Why don't we stop for dinner? I'm sure you'll feel better after you've eaten."

"Can we still afford to eat?" Pipit muttered, as she set a plate down in front of him.

She chuckled at the joke, and cheerfully set down her own plate, along with some bread, cheese, and sliced meat. "I didn't feel up to cooking, so it's sandwiches for dinner today."

Pipit silently assembled his sandwich, resigning himself to the fact that his mom was simply not to be depended on to work. Mallara was used to being taken care of. Her parents, Pipit's grandparents, had doted on her back when they were still alive.

And then there was dad. He earned a lot of money with his shop- enough that they were able to depend so heavily on his savings even now, over a year after his disappearance. Harrie had taken care of both of them, had made sure they never lacked. But he, too, was gone.

Now it was up to Pipit. He could never be so derelict a son as to neglect his duty to his own mother.

"Mom, I'm thinking about dropping out of the Knight Academy."

"What?" Mallara looked up, eyebrows raised. "I thought that becoming a knight was your dream!"

"Doesn't matter," Pipit said dully. "The tuition's too expensive, and I'm spending too much time in classes or studying. I should be running dad's shop full-time. Continuing the family business."

"But darling, you've never been interested in business."

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter."

Mallara stood, coming around the large table to grasp her son's face between her hands. Behind the stoic expression, she could see him struggling to conceal his misery. "It matters," she told him tenderly. "It matters a lot."

Pipit sighed and leaned into her touch. "I don't know what to do," he confessed. "I want to be a knight more than anything- to serve and protect Skyloft, to study its history, to wield a sword with honor."

"To fly around on that big old loftwing?" Mallara added.

"Yes, that too," he agreed. "But the shop..."

"You worry so much about that place." His mother waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Why don't we just sell it?"

"Sell the shop?" Pipit repeated uneasily. It didn't sit well with him, getting rid of something his father had poured his life into.

"Sure," Mallara elaborated, "It's worth a lot of money. You can even use it to pay tuition andbuy your sword and supplies. Isn't that a splendid idea?"

Pipit furrowed his brows. He doubted that the profit of selling the shop could carry him the whole way through knight school. But- if they were careful- it might get him pretty close. It was tempting to try.

Pipit had to choose. He could be a knight, or he could be a shop owner. Not both.

The thought of spending his life peddling goods and chasing after profit depressed him. Even as a young child, Pipit knew he had a higher calling. His father knew it too, and had paid to enroll the boy in Skyloft's Knight Academy.

_"No need to follow in my footsteps, son,"_ Harrie had said with a grin, _"You go find the Pipit way!"_

Pipit reached out and hugged his mom. "Yes," he agreed, "I think it's a great idea."


	3. Loftwing Expert

Calling it a "great idea" may have been a stretch. Neither Pipit nor Mallara had any real idea what went into the sale of property. The shop didn't sell for quite as much as they had hoped, and a sizable chunk went to the agent who had helped them.

Over time, to make ends meet, Pipit slowly sold father's possessions and valuables. None of his mother's jewelry or fine linens though. He felt guilty enough hawking his dead father's things; he didn't want to feel like he was taking from his mother. The knighthood, after all, was about giving of himself.

He wished he was perfect at this. But sometimes- when clothing had to be patched for the third time, when the dining chairs broke down and were replaced with two rough wooden stools, or when he had to make do with painfully tight boots- Pipit doubted his decision.

At these times, he would summon his Loftwing and take flight, giving himself time and space to think. Always, he came to the same conclusion. If he had to forfeit some material things on his path to knighthood, so be it.

Then one day a solution presented itself. Pipit ran home to share the news. "Mom, guess what!"

"Oh, Pipit dear," Mallara smiled up at him, "How was your day? You seem excited."

"I am! I was talking to Professor Horwell. Did you know his brother works for the Avian Research Society? They're looking for a part-time assistant to help with their Loftwing Study Program. Professor Horwell knows that I'm really interested in Loftwings- he said he could recommend me for the position. Isn't that great?"

"But what about school?" Mallara asked.

"It'll be fine. Avian Island is just a 30 minute flight from here. I'll go over after school, work for a few hours, and come back at night."

"That sounds exhausting," she said, crinkling her nose. "Are you sure you want to do that?"

"Are you kidding? I'd love the chance to study Loftwings!" Pipit cried. "And get this- it's a paid position. I'll be able to earn money doing it."

His mom patted his cheek, "My, you really are a go-getter. I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, mom." Pipit walked over to his living area to put his gear away, and then checked the stove. "You made soup," he said, somewhat surprised. Grabbing bowls and spoons, he set the table for dinner. Mallara brought the bread out of the cupboard.

It was light fare- the soup was thin and watery, flavored mainly with the withered vegetables that Pipit had bought at a discount. Still, the bread was filling enough. And when he started that job at the Avian Research Society, buying food wouldn't be such a challenge. Maybe he'd even invite a friend over from school once in a while, if he knew he'd have something to offer them.

"This place could use some attention," Pipit noted suddenly. "Look at how grimy the floor is."

"The floor?" Mallara glanced around them. "Yes, it does keep doing that."

Feeling a twinge of irritation, he asked, "Why don't you try cleaning it? I've heard that helps."

"Oh, I know. I just…" she shrugged. "I didn't feel up to it today. I tire so easily, you know."

"What did you do that wore you out?" Pipit asked.

"I made the soup," she said. "Do you like it?"

He half-heartedly nodded, swirling the spoon in the clear liquid. "You could maybe try doing more than one thing a day, though."

"I'll try," Mallara said agreeably. "But not today. I think I'll go to bed early. If you're staying up, would you be a dear and clean up a bit?"

"Sure, why not?" Pipit said. "I only have homework to finish and an exam to study for; I'm sure I could fit in some housework."

"Wonderful!" Mallara smiled, missing the sarcasm.

"Glad to be of service," he sighed in resignation. "But when I start working, I won't have time to do the cleaning anymore. You're going to need to step up. You can do that, can't you, mom?"

"I'm sure it'll work out," Mallara nodded, excusing herself from the table and leaving her dirty dishes behind.


	4. Adjusting

"Mom, this is ridiculous!"

"Pipit, calm down."

"Seriously, though? You can't even bother to sweep the floor? At least once a week or something? I can literally see my own footprints in the dirt!"

"You don't have to get so upset."

"Yes I do! You haven't cleaned this house _once_ since I started working. We talked about this! It takes me an hour in travel time, and I have school and studying on top of that. Why am I responsible for all the housework too?"

"That's not true. I did the laundry last week."

He pressed his hand over his face as he tried to contain his annoyance. "Yeah, that's great."

"I did the shopping today," she further reminded him.

"I can tell," Pipit snapped, striding over to the kitchen and opening the cabinets and ice box. "Honey cakes, white truffles, tenderloin steak. You blew my entire paycheck on gourmet food!"

"It's how I've always done the shopping," she replied, more subdued. "Harrie never minded it."

He hesitated. "I'm not making nearly as much as dad did," he said quietly, almost guiltily.

"I know, honey" Mallara said, her smile looking strained around the edges. "It's just hard to adjust sometimes. I wish Harrie never left. I…I miss him."

Pipit exhaled, most of his anger dissipating, and he suddenly felt just as exhausted as Mallara often claimed to be. "I miss him too."


	5. Wing Ceremony

The wind whipped his face as Pipit coaxed his Loftwing to a higher altitude. "Come on, Oscar," he urged, stroking the moss green feathers on his guardian bird's neck. Below them, but further ahead, a golden Loftwing carried the small wooden Bird Statuette.

Pipet's objective: capture that statuette before the other racers. Winning this competition would allow him to complete the Wing Ceremony and advance to the next level in his knighthood.

His heart pounded as he leaned forward and guided Oscar into a swift descent toward their goal. They picked up speed, and Pipit was soon making his way ahead of the competition. He never felt closer to his Loftwing than in this exhilarating moment, riding together to achieve their goal, to prove their skill, and test their bond.

Pipit sensed his bird's sudden distress, and pulled up sharply. He only barely managed to evade a brown Loftwing as it lunged to attack him.

"Ho, Cawlin!" Pipit shouted, "That was an unworthy move!"

The rider of the brown Loftwing turned just long enough to sneer in his direction before pressing his advantage. Cawlin stretched for the Bird Statuette, but his arms were too short, and the golden Loftwing swerved away.

Fledge, the third rider in this competition was now the closest to the golden bird. This was his first time in a Wing Competition, and the timid young trainee had only barely qualified to participate. Fledge lacked confidence, but he always put forth good effort.

Fledge squinted as he focused completely on the goal. He prepared to reach for the statue, heedless of his surroundings. Cawlin grit his teeth and readied his Loftwing for another attack. Fledge would never see it coming.

Pipit, however, saw how this could unfold: the attack would slow _both_ Cawlin and Fledge down, opening the way for Pipit to grab the statue, win the competition, and advance on his path to knighthood.

He just had to win. His instructors had high expectations for him; Pipit couldn't disappoint them by losing for the second year in a row. And Karane…he'd join the senior ranks with Karane, who'd passed the Wing Ceremony last year.

But could he really exploit Fledge's misfortune for his own gain?

Pipit pressed his lips together and realized that, no, he could not. Not when Cawlin was cheating. Not while it was in his power to defend Fledge. He would rather lose the race again, than hang his comrade out to dry.

Cawlin attacked. With a fierce shout, Pipit steered his Loftwing into a dive, moving to intercept.

The brown Loftwing was forced to pull back before stiking his intended target. Fledge now had his opening to grab the statue. However, the sound of Pipit's battle cry and the sudden nearby confrontation startled Fledge and threw him off course. The young trainee nearly slipped off his Loftwing in fright.

Cawlin flew off in pursuit of the statue while Pipit coasted to make sure his classmate regained control of his bird. "You all right, Fledge?"

"Y-yes!" the boy called back shakily.

Pipit nodded and wheeled his green Loftwing around, renewing his pursuit. "Come on, Oscar, we can still make it!" His bird cawed in solidarity and lunged at a speed that nearly left his rider breathless.

Pipit carefully shifted his weight, and then inched his way higher on the Loftwing's neck, until he had his feet braced against the bird's shoulder blades and one hand clinging to the crest of his its head. He was gaining on Cawlin and the golden Loftwing that held their prize in its claws. In one breathtaking moment, both riders grabbed for the statuette.

Pipit's fingers closed around the wooden figure and freed it from the bird's claws. For a moment, he could only stare at it in dazed awe as he slid back down to proper riding position. Then a grin bloomed on his face. He shouted his elation to the sky, and hugged his Loftwing's neck. "We did it, Oscar! We did it!"

Nearby, Fledge cheered as well. "That was amazing! Great flying!"

They exchanged exhausted, happy grins and, even more than Fledge's praise, Pipit was grateful that he could look the other boy in the eyes without shame.


End file.
